


Irresistible

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:36:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4307076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ukai tugs at the trailing ends of the blindfold, testing the set of the knot against dark-curled hair. 'Sure you can’t see anything?'" Takeda has even fewer compunctions than usual when he's blindfolded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Irresistible

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aceromanoffs](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=aceromanoffs).



Ukai tugs at the trailing ends of the blindfold, testing the set of the knot against dark-curled hair. “Sure you can’t see anything?”

Takeda’s hand comes up, fumbles through unseen air until his fingers bump Ukai’s wrist. “Nothing,” he admits, closing his hand on the other’s arm as he turns on his knees so Ukai can see the unconscious part of his lips, the catch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “I have no idea where you are.”

“I’m right here,” Ukai says, pivoting his wrist in Takeda’s hold so he can twine their fingers together. Takeda laughs, a sudden burst of sound; his other hand comes over to join the first, pinning Ukai’s fingers between his palms like he’s clinging to an anchor point.

“You sound different,” he announces.

“I  _sound_  different?” Ukai tightens his hold on Takeda’s hand, tugs up to urge the other to his feet; Takeda takes a moment, drags hard at the support as he gets his feet under him with an exaggeration of his usual clumsiness. “How do I sound different?”

“I don’t know.” Takeda is smiling, still, his mouth parted open like he can’t remember how to close it, or like he’s just forgotten to think of his expression with his own vision blocked. “Lower, kind of. A little older.” The curve of his mouth slips sideways, flashes warm in a way Ukai has learned to brace for. “Sexier.”

“Shut up,” Ukai growls past the flush that starts to climb into his cheeks. “Dork.”

“It’s true.” Takeda lets his two-handed hold on Ukai’s fingers go, reaches out towards his face instead; his fingers hit jawline, drag gentle friction against the line of it in pursuit of the other’s mouth. Ukai could turn away, pull away from the contact or reach up and catch Takeda’s wrist to hold him still; he doesn’t do anything, just keeps watching the way the dark strip of the blindfold lines Takeda’s features, leaves his mouth the softer without the distraction of his bright-gold eyes. There are fingers at his mouth, sliding against his lips in feather-light motion; it makes him smile, a flash of teeth that slides against Takeda’s fingertips before he can purse his lips into a quick kiss against delicate knuckles.

“Oh,” Takeda breathes, sharp and shocked, and then he’s leaning in, coming up onto tiptoes as his palm fits against Ukai’s jaw to steady him. Ukai fights back a smile in favor of a kiss, the soft fit of Takeda’s lips against his; their fingers untangle, Ukai’s hand coming down to settle against Takeda’s waist, and he’s tipping in closer, bracing his hand at the small of the other’s back to pull him nearer when Takeda pulls back, stumbles back into his own balance and takes a shuddery breath.

“What are you doing?” Ukai asks, reaching out for Takeda’s hand again. “Come back here.”

“Where’s the bed?” Takeda asks, swinging his arm through the air like he’s trying to locate the furniture through pure guesswork.

Ukai can feel his eyebrows jump up, his mouth twist around the threat of a laugh. “Impatient much?” He catches Takeda’s flailing arm, curls his fingers around pressed-white cuff and his pinky against pale-warm skin. “You’re going the wrong direction.”

“Oh,” Takeda laughs. “Take me to the bed, Keishin.”

Ukai’s breath leaves his lungs in a rush, the press of that laugh breaking free to tangle with an overwarm sigh, an attempt at resignation that just comes out sounding absurdly affectionate. It’s hard to fight it back when his skin is prickling hot with anticipation and his chest is aching with warmth, when Takeda’s smile is dragging his attention sideways until he has nearly as much trouble locating the bed as the other did.

“Don’t be a tease, sensei,” he says as he tugs Takeda forward by a gentle hold at his hands, backs up until he can sit against the edge of the bed and guide the other in until their knees bump together.

“I’m not teasing,” Takeda protests. He slides a hand free as Ukai lets his hold loosen, reaches out to bump his fingers at the line of the other’s shoulder. “I’m serious.” His hand braces at Ukai’s shoulder, steadies his weight as he leans forward; Ukai figures out what he’s intending just in time to make a grab for Takeda’s hips, to catch and balance him as he gets a knee on the bed alongside Ukai’s leg. Ukai looks up, ready to sigh some resigned critique of Takeda’s sense of equilibrium, and Takeda’s mouth hits his, or at least the corner of his, slides into the soft give of warm friction and flutters clarity right out of his head.

“Oh,” Ukai says against the slide of Takeda’s lips as the other presses in against him, leans heavily on his support as his other knee comes up to fit against Ukai’s hip. The press of his weight at Ukai’s lap is hot, would be uncomfortable if Ukai were in any kind of a position to either notice or complain about that fact. As it turns out, having his flushed-warm boyfriend straddling his lap is not such a position, especially not when Takeda rocks forward hard enough that Ukai loses his balance and goes toppling back to land on the bed with Takeda pressed against him.

“Keishin,” Takeda breathes, that low soft tone that should reasonably just sound like a whisper and instead makes Ukai’s thoughts go hazy and overheated. Fingers push through his hair, sliding against bleached-yellow strands so Takeda can scrape his fingernails against Ukai’s scalp, can shudder away whatever restraint Ukai might have been trying to cling to. Takeda leans in closer, shifting against Ukai in a way that is no less seductive for how unintentional Ukai is sure it is, and then his mouth is catching the shoulder seam of Ukai’s shirt, his breathing blowing warm through the fabric. “I want to suck your cock.”

Of the things Ukai was expecting Takeda to say, that was  _not_  on the list. He can’t think why, exactly; it’s hardly a novel sentiment for the other, and Ukai has learned that Takeda can be far more direct about what he wants that his soft-sweet appearance would suggest. Still, he’s not expecting this, isn’t braced for it at all, which means that when the full-body shudder of reaction ripples through him he has no hope at all of repressing it, any more than he can attempt to stifle the groan in his throat.

“ _Jesus_.” His hands at Takeda’s hips slide down a half-inch, turn into something suggestive and bracing as he arches up almost unconsciously to press closer to the other’s body. “You can’t just  _say_  things like that.”

Takeda whimpers against his shoulder, grinds down against him, and that particular tilt of his hips absolutely has to be illegal in some never-enforced lawbook. “Why not?”

Ukai turns his head, catches a breath against the silky fabric of the blindfold over Takeda’s eyes. “Because.” His voice is weird in his throat, dropping into a deliberately low growl that feels foolish but always makes Takeda shiver against him like he’s suddenly cold. “I might actually do them.”

“I want you to,” Takeda says immediately, without even giving it a second’s thought. He wiggles a hand free from between them, reaches down to tug the edge of Ukai’s shirt up and off his skin. “I want you to do them, Keishin.”

Ukai can see where this is going. Takeda might be blindfolded but he can see perfectly well, is staring clear-eyed at the ceiling to watch the conclusion coming inevitably for him. It’s like being doomed, like watching destiny unfold around you, and he thinks maybe he was always fated for this ending from that first day a nervous-clumsy high school teacher showed up at his store.

There’s no point in fighting fate.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, grating the sound against Takeda’s ear.

Takeda sighs, shivering through the breath as if he’s uncertain when Ukai knows him to be no such thing. His fingers are fitting under the hem of Ukai’s shirt, skimming against the bottom of the other’s ribcage with ticklish gentleness formed under his touch.

“I want to blow you,” he says again, lips shaping into words Ukai can feel wet and warm at his skin. “I want you to strip all my clothes off and then sit right at the edge of the bed and let me kneel between your legs and suck your cock while I finger myself open.” He makes it sound straightforward, a perfect mundane request instead of a mental image that drags the interruption of a groan in Ukai throat, that flushes him so hard against the inside of his jeans that he has to reach up and make a fist of Takeda’s dark hair just to keep his hands from jumping ahead to the end.

“Oh, is that all?” he deadpans, rumpling Takeda’s curls into disarray around the taut line of the blindfold. Takeda doesn’t protest, just sighs satisfaction against his shoulder and rocks in closer, spreads his fingers out against Ukai’s waist so he can fit his palm flush to the other’s skin.

“No,” he says. “Then I want you to pull me up onto the bed and push me down against the blankets and fuck me until I come without being touched at all.”

It’s ridiculous how calm he sounds. If it weren’t for the hard line of his cock pressing against Ukai’s hip, he would think the other man entirely unaffected by this particularly detailed list of goals. His voice is level enough for it, not even showing the stammering nerves he generally offers anytime he attempts to speak in a more formal setting.

“God _damn_ ,” Ukai says, feeling his cheeks burn self-conscious with the fire smouldering through his veins. “Do you  _practice_  saying this kind of thing?”

“Huh?” And he sounds innocent, again, so naively confused Ukai almost feels  _guilty_ , as if he’s the one doing the corrupting instead of the other way around.

“It’s the blindfold,” Ukai decides. He draws his hand away from Takeda’s hip, gets his elbow under him and against the bed so he can push them both upright. Takeda has to clutch at his shoulder to keep his balance, but that’s fine; Ukai’s the one who needs his hands in order to start working the buttons of Takeda’s shirt open. “I cover your eyes and you get an absolutely  _filthy_  mind.” There’s no judgment in the words; they’re a purr, more than anything else, amusement not quite enough to draw level with the cresting heat in Ukai’s blood.

Takeda exhales loud, his breath catching in his chest as Ukai tugs his shirt open. “ _Ah_. Yes, I think you’re right.”

“Or are you like this all the time?” Ukai is grinning, can hear the way the amusement is catching into audible tension in his throat. Takeda lets one of his hands go so he can push the loose fabric off his shoulder, fumbles his hold back into place and trades hands. “Sitting there with that innocent look on your face and all sorts of inappropriate thoughts in your head?”

“Keishin,” Takeda breathes, rocks himself forward with a motion jerky with helpless impatience. Ukai laughs, lets Takeda’s shirt drop to the floor so he can fit the palm of his hand against the taut front of the other’s slacks. The friction gets him fingers digging at his shoulder, a gasping delighted whimper, and he’s smiling, wide-open delight made foolish by sincerity as he holds Takeda still by his hip so he can drag the other’s belt loose.

“That’s not a no,” he points out. “Is that what you do while you’re waiting for me to finish my shift at work?” The buckle falls open, he tugs at Takeda’s zipper; Takeda’s curling in towards him from the glancing pressure, panting into his hair like he can’t catch his breath. “Just sit there and think about getting your mouth on my cock?”

There’s a laugh against his forehead, Takeda turning his head to find an angle for his mouth at Ukai’s skin. “Maybe,” he admits, and Ukai gets his slacks open, pushes the fabric aside to skim his fingers over the heat of Takeda’s length. Takeda shudders, sucks in air as he arches forward, and Ukai looks up so he can see the scarlet-hot flush spreading along the edge of the blindfold around Takeda’s eyes.

“Sensei,” he says, aiming for chastising and just sounding husky. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Yes,” Takeda agrees, sounding not at all ashamed. He’s breathing hard against Ukai’s hair, winding his fingers up against the back of the other’s neck like he’s seeking purchase and settling his hold in place at the same time. He’s rocking up on his knees, leaning in close enough Ukai’s hand is pinned between them, and every breath Ukai manages is hot off Takeda’s skin, catching warm and humid at the other’s shoulder.

“Ittetsu,” he says, shutting his eyes and tipping his head to brush a kiss against slender collarbone. He slides his fingers down against flushed skin, drags them back up slow to feel the way Takeda shivers, the way his legs flex taut with appreciation of the friction. “I could just jerk you off right now, you know.” He slides his fingers sideways, fits his thumb just under the head of Takeda’s cock to underline his point. “And we could start from there.”

“Oh,” Takeda breathes, all tremors and incoherency. He leans in closer, presses himself against Ukai’s touch, and Ukai can’t help but rock up, press himself against the inside line of Takeda’s thigh as the closest point of contact he can get.

And then: “No,” Takeda says, throat trembling on the sound but tone determined nonetheless. He unwinds a hand from Ukai’s hair, reaches to catch at his wrist instead to slide his hand away. Ukai goes with the urging -- it’s not unexpected, after all. He has yet to sway Takeda from an idea once the other has set his heart on it. He still groans protest when Takeda slides away, though, taking his touch and his bare skin with him as he half-slides, half-falls off the edge of the bed to the floor.

“You’re a dork,” Ukai observes as Takeda struggles free of his slacks and kicks them aside. It should be a ridiculous visual -- and it is -- but then Takeda is free, all pale skin over the clean lines of shoulder and waist and thigh, and when he shifts to take his weight on his knees there is something startlingly elegant about it, the flex of muscle to balance him as he rocks up and reaches blind for Ukai’s jeans graceful as he never is on his feet.

“God,” Ukai says, reaching back to brace himself with one hand so he can fit the other against the loose curls of Takeda’s hair. “You look so good like this.”

He just means that grace, the unselfconscious arc of Takeda’s bare shoulder and the part of his lips on his breathing. He’s not thinking about the implications at all until he sees Takeda’s mouth curl around amused delight, until he hears the laugh under the other’s voice when he says, “You like me on my knees, Keishin?”

Ukai can feel his face burn crimson, embarrassment at this unintended meaning flaring through him more effectively than the clumsy work Takeda is making of the fly of his jeans. But the blindfold hides his blush as much as it keeps back Takeda’s vision, gives him deniability if he levels his voice, so instead of stammering a backtracking explanation he clears his throat into his best attempt at gruffness and reaches down to manage the button that Takeda has been fumbling with.

“Yeah,” he says, and whatever foolishness he feels at the tone he is attempting is counterbalanced by the way Takeda’s mouth drops open, the whining note he offers from the back of his throat. “I like you on your knees, sensei.”

“Keishin,” Takeda whimpers, and then Ukai gets his jeans open, and then both move at once, Ukai sliding towards the edge of the bed and Takeda ducking in too fast so the top of his head hits Ukai’s chest. Ukai doesn’t flinch back; he reaches out instead, closes his other hand against the other side of Takeda’s head to hold him still while he catches his balance at the edge of the mattress, where his knees can go wide and bracket Takeda’s shoulders. Takeda catches the point without being told, is tugging at Ukai’s clothes to drag them barely out of the way, and the moment Ukai lets his hold loosen Takeda is ducking in, slicking his bottom lip with his tongue before he sighs hot against Ukai’s cock and closes his mouth over flushed skin.

Ukai groans, a low resonance of satisfaction. He can see the knot at the back of the blindfold with Takeda’s head dipped down like this, but lack of vision appears to have no effect on his technique; he’s letting Ukai slide over his tongue, far back in his mouth on the very first stroke, until it’s Ukai who closes a hand at his hair to urge him off and back. Takeda makes up for this retreat with a slow slide away, sucking friction against Ukai as he goes, and then he breaks away with lips flushed and saliva-slick and Ukai nearly groans again without Takeda even touching him.

“Keishin,” Takeda says, and even his voice sounds different, low and dragging at the back of his throat like he can’t modulate it correctly. “I need the lube.”

“What?” Ukai says, vague and still caught in staring at the shape Takeda’s lips make around the words, still thinking about the friction of the other’s mouth sliding down over him in that first slick movement. “Why do you--” Then his brain catches up with memory, recollection offering the  _rest_  of Takeda’s statement, and all the breath leaves his lungs at once.

“ _Fuck_.” He sounds shocked, disbelieving, but he’s letting Takeda’s hair go anyway, twisting sideways so he can reach for the bedside table. “I thought you were just teasing.”

“Not at all,” Takeda says, reaching sideways to tangle his fingers with Ukai’s. The bottle slides between them, falls to the floor, but Takeda recovers it from there, twists the cap open so he can spill liquid over his fingers. “I hope you don’t mind?”

“Nah,” Ukai manages, watching Takeda’s fingers go slick and promising. “I think I can handle it.”

Takeda’s smile seems sharper with his eyes covered, more deliberately teasing than he usually appears. His teeth catch at his lip, white on pink as he arches up and reaches behind himself; Ukai can see the strain in his arm, the awkward angle of his shoulder as he gets his hand where he wants it.

“Oh good.” He sounds relieved, as if Ukai’s agreement was ever in any doubt, but Ukai doesn’t have a chance to point out this absurdity before he’s moving, his back arching as his mouth falls open into something that is part a whimper and part a moan. Ukai can’t restrain the sound he makes, a growling note of pure desire, and then he’s reaching back out, burying his fingers into dark hair so he can draw Takeda back down to where he was. Takeda doesn’t protest; he just curves his shoulders, dips his head obediently, and the next time he moves his hand his reaction purrs into vibration against the flush of Ukai’s cock.

He’s less deliberate about his movements this time. Ukai is steering him more than anything else, his grip at Takeda’s hair enough to guide the pace of his motion. He can see Takeda’s shoulder moving, though, the flex of muscle against his arm and down his back more intensely suggestive than actually obscene from the angle he’s at; far more telling is the way Takeda is breathing, the heavy heat of the gasps he’s taking every time Ukai pulls back enough to let him catch his breath.

“Is this what you wanted?” Ukai asks when Takeda shifts his hand to work another finger inside himself. His voice is low, rumbling all through his chest like it’s connected directly to the panting little inhales Takeda keeps taking through his nose, but talking helps, keeps his mind off the slick heat of Takeda’s mouth and the steady thud of his heartbeat pushing him harder and hotter with every downward movement of Takeda’s head. “Like this?”

“Mm,” Takeda hums, the sound garbled well out of coherency but still audibly pleased, satisfied as if this is all he’s ever wanted out of his life. “Mmhm.”

“Jesus,” Ukai blurts, the sound turning to an overheated laugh in his throat. “I’m never getting out of this, am I?” Takeda groans, something that might be a laugh and might just be shuddering pleasure at whatever he’s doing with his hand, and Ukai tightens his hold at Takeda’s hair, tugs until the other pulls back and away.

“Come up here,” he orders, sliding sideways on the bed as he catches Takeda’s elbow to urge him to his feet. It takes a moment -- Takeda has to slide his hand free, and he’s clumsier even than usual with his vision absent -- but he manages by dint of throwing out a hand to catch himself at the mattress, toppling forward to make a display of pale skin over the sheets. Ukai’s reaching almost before he’s landed, pushing Takeda across the bed so he’s in line with the edges of the mattress, and Takeda helpfully tugs against the sheets in support, until he’s sprawled face-down over the blankets with his hands fisted as if to brace himself in place.

Ukai considers taking his jeans off, at least. He stares for a whole handful of seconds, weighing the benefits and costs of hesitation; but Takeda is arching his back, sliding back over his knees to make an offering of himself, and Ukai can hear his breathing clearly, now, can hear the desperate whine on every exhale he takes, and he’s never been a particularly patient man, really.

“God,” he groans, and he’s moving, his hands settling against the edges of Takeda’s hips and his knees fitting against the give of the bed. Takeda whines, tries to rock back towards him, might even succeed if Ukai weren’t holding him in place. “You’re  _irresistible_ , how do you  _do_  that?” He lets one of his hands go, briefly, just long enough to brace at the base of his cock as he tips forward; then he’s sliding in, the hot friction of Takeda’s body giving way to his thrust, and he has to grab against the other just to keep his own balance through the first slow stroke.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he blurts, the sound sharp and clear over the sustained moan of satisfaction Takeda is offering to the sheets. The edge of his jeans catch at Takeda’s skin, the zipper pressing against him as Ukai finishes out the motion; then he draws back, still deliberately slow, thrusts in again while his spine sparks hot and his vision goes hazy at the edges. “ _Ittetsu_.”

“Keishin,” Takeda manages, sounding strained and anxious. He turns his head, curls catching at the sheets to form a tangled halo around his head. His lips are parted, mouth open like he can’t recall how to close it. “Harder,  _please_.”

Ukai groans, draws back for another thrust. This one is sharp, one fast motion to sink in as deep as he can go, and Takeda jolts with the motion, the shudder of reaction running visibly over his body.

“Like that?” Ukai asks, does it again without waiting for an answer. Takeda’s hands go slack this time, his throat spilling sound that comes straight from his chest to pour out his throat. “There, right?” He doesn’t need confirmation; he can feel it in the way Takeda’s shivering under his hold, the tremors of sensation running up his thighs and grounding out against Ukai’s bracing hands. His back is arching, dipping into an impossible curve; when Ukai glances away from the pointless drag of Takeda’s fingers against the sheets he can see the way his ankle is going tense, the arch of his foot proof of rising pleasure. He looks back, up the smooth sweep of Takeda’s spine to the tension collected between his shoulderblades, and that’s where he’s staring when Takeda wails against the sheets, all the strain of reaching for pleasure coming undone underneath Ukai’s steady hold. Satisfaction shudders through him, arching along his spine and unwinding over his shoulders and the backs of his legs; Ukai can feel the separate pulses of heat running through him, each wave of pleasure in Takeda’s body drawing him closer to the edge himself.

Then “Keishin,” Takeda breathes, sounding shaky and overheated, and that’s it, the sound of his name pressed against the soft of Takeda’s still-parted lips too much to resist. Ukai has to shut his eyes; it’s too much to take, otherwise, the soft shudder of motion still humming through Takeda’s shoulders as he thrusts forward in the last arrhythmic desperation, pushes for more, more,  _enough_ , until he’s shuddering and groaning and curling forward and closer to the pale radiance of Takeda’s bare skin. Everything is warm, heat bursting out into him in a slow-motion explosion, and Takeda is sighing satisfaction in some distant place, the sound of his exhale enough to pull another shiver of pleasure up along Ukai’s spine.

They stay still for a long moment, Ukai curled in against the languid sprawl Takeda has made of himself over the blankets. Finally Ukai sighs, pulls back and away so he can roll onto his back and arch his hips up enough to finally strip off the jeans that have become too heavy for the warm glow of his skin to bear. It takes him a minute, with the shake in his hands and the weight of his body, and by the time he’s kicking them free Takeda has pushed the blindfold free, is leaning in to fit himself against Ukai’s shoulder as if it belongs to him.

“You,” Ukai says, stretching his arm out to make room for the tangle of Takeda’s hair at his shoulder. “Are a menace.”

“Mm,” Takeda hums. Without his glasses on the gold of his eyes looks a little sharper, a little hotter, like maybe he really has made it his life’s goal to gain complete control over Ukai’s existence. “I love you.”

Ukai can’t help the way he smiles, the way the expression catches him unawares to spread wide across his whole face. Takeda’s smiling too, when he turns in sideways to press a kiss to the other’s forehead, a soft curve of lips that shifts into a hum of satisfaction at the contact of Ukai’s mouth at his skin.

“I love you too,” Ukai admits, angles his arm up to ruffle fingers through dark hair. “Dork.”

Takeda’s laugh is warm and delighted against his shoulder.


End file.
